I raised my eyebrows, allowing myself another moment to go over what she'd said. It was outrageous, unbelievable. "Wait, you're not," I leaned forward, "one of those crazy women who used to write to me in prison offering marriage, are you?"
Her eyes went wide. "What?"
I reclined back again. "Yeah, there were lots of them. Apparently some women find a sick thrill in that sort of thing."
"For what . . . why?" She shook her head slightly as if she wasn't sure how the conversation had veered off track. Her confusion seemed genuine.
I smirked. "From what I know, women like a bad boy."
She looked at me blankly for a moment. "I can assure you, I'm not one of those women."
I nodded slowly, regarding her. "Well good, because I can assure you that you're not my type anyway."
She bristled, sitting up straighter. "Even better then. What I'm proposing is strictly business, nothing more." She looked away, and I couldn't see those witchy eyes, but when she looked back her cheeks were rosy again. "However, it would look suspicious if I didn't live here, and frankly, Mr. Hawthorn, I need somewhere to live. And so I was thinking that in exchange for the housing, I could do accounting work for you. I assume you no longer have much of a staff."
I leaned back again. "I'm impressed by your research, Ms. Dallaire. No, I had to let my bookkeeper go. And my secretary. And most of the rest of the staff as well." Not that any of them had lived on the grounds.
She nodded. "I'm good with numbers. I worked as an intern for my father's accounting team. I'm well acquainted with accounting programs. I could work for you in exchange for room and board, and obviously for appearance’s sake. I don't propose I'd have to live here for a year—maybe just a couple months or so, or until I know my father has accepted the marriage and resumed ignoring me. I could discreetly move away, and we would never have to see one another again—except of course, in divorce court. It really would be very straightforward. And very temporary. And of course, we'd put it all in writing. And please, just Kira."
I studied her for several long moments, noting the way she'd just rambled. She looked to be polished and sure, but was she actually nervous sitting here in front of me? I held eye contact for just a beat too long, but she didn't look away and didn't flinch. "And what will you do with your half of the money, Kira? If I may be so bold as to ask."
She cleared her throat. "Well, other than live, I’m involved in several charities in San Francisco. One of the centers is in dire straits and will have to close if they can't come up with the funding."
I smiled a tight smile. Ah. Just like my stepmother. An heiress with an empty life. I could just see her pulling up in her Bentley to save the lowly peasants from starvation so she could refer to herself as a philanthropist, before dashing off to the Louis Vuitton store to add to her luggage collection. "I see." What did it matter to me what she did with her money? And what her purpose was. I needed only to be concerned with my own situation. "It's a highly unusual proposition. I'll think about it and get back to you." I started to stand.
"Well see, I kind of need your answer quickly." Her voice came out fast and breathy. My body, or at least the parts between my legs, twitched again. Dammit. Something about my body's reaction to her made me angry. Although the parts reacting had never been very discerning.
I sat back down.
"I wish I could give you more time to consider, Mr. Hawthorn, but unfortunately, circumstances dictate that I—"
I put my hand up to stop her. "I'll get back to you by the end of today. How can I get a hold of you?"
She paused. "I'm staying at the Motel 6 tonight. I can give you my cell number, and you can call me."
Motel 6? My, how far the princess had fallen. Yes, her situation was quite desperate. I watched as she grabbed a sticky pad and a pen at the edge of my desk and carefully wrote out her phone number. I took it and tossed it casually onto the pile of messy papers. She looked at where I'd thrown it and then back to me, her lips pressed together. "I can assure you my proposition is legitimate."
"It very well could be. Of course, I'd want to meet with the executor of this trust anyway. But it's still something I need to consider. I do have to think about other ways this might affect my life. A felon is one thing, but a felon and a divorcé? How will I fend off the ladies?" She narrowed those startling eyes.
"Yes, well, if there were any other options, I wouldn't be considering this either. Trust me." This princess wouldn't know a real problem if it smacked her in the face. But as we stared each other down, something flashed in her eyes. Under her cool business demeanor, she was just barely holding back a temper. She was a princess, but oh yes, just as I'd thought, she had a little witch in her, too. We were both silent as she leaned forward slightly as if waiting for . . . something. Did she expect me to thank her?
"Have a good day." I didn't stand. She could show herself out. She stood slowly, holding her hand out so I could shake it. I reached forward and took her hand in mine for the second time. That same heat spiked through me, and I quickly pulled away. Kira Dallaire turned on her heel, her haughty little chin in the air, and left my office without looking back.
I stood and went to the window, lifting the shade. I watched as she walked toward a white Jetta. It surprised me she was driving such a non-flashy car. When she got to the door and began to climb in, she paused and looked around at the vineyard. There was something in her expression that made me unconsciously take a step toward her, my face almost hitting the glass in front of me. What had that been? Appreciation, I thought. For this run-down place? But with something else, too . . . understanding? Before I could consider it any longer, she ducked inside her car, slamming the door behind her, and a minute later, was driving through the gate and out of sight.